


What would I Do Without You?

by SeparationBoundary



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Companionship, F/M, Hurt, Longing, One-Shot, Post-Apocalypse, Vignette, hunger, thirst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26342443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeparationBoundary/pseuds/SeparationBoundary
Summary: Five and Dolores trying to make do after the apocalypse.
Relationships: Dolores/Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 27





	What would I Do Without You?

**Author's Note:**

> Trying something new here! If you know me/ follow me, don't panic! I have absolutely NO intention of abandoning either the Attack on Titan fandom or the Hunter x Hunter fandom. I'm just exploring some ideas I had about UA. :D  
> Enjoy!

The wind was gritty. It always was, sweeping up the fine, pulverized dust of human habitation and flinging it headlong. There was also the ash. So much had just burnt, the ash was an ever-present feature to the day like anti-snowflakes drifting through the air.

“Damn this wind,” Five said.

_ You would be damning it if it was calm. _

“True,” Five admitted. Without the clouds of dust, the sun beat down mercilessly.

There were no trees. They had all been burnt to cinders during the apocalypse. Five sometimes wondered where the oxygen came from. He suspected that the algae and such in the oceans must have survived.

He did occasionally see pathetic looking grass and weeds trying to poke their way out of cracks in the concrete. He always gave them a little of his water to encourage them.

Still, the air was thin.

_ You should sit down and rest a bit. _

“You’re always telling me to sit down and rest,” Five said, glancing fondly over his shoulder at her. “Always looking out for me.”

_ I just wish I could help. _

“You help plenty. You watch the camp and the wagon. You keep me sober. Mostly.”

Five could feel the little pout of displeasure behind him. Dolores hated his overindulging.

They trudged onward for several miles, Five pulling the rusted, once-red Radio Flyer wagon with Dolores and their supplies in it, boots kicking up the greyish dust. 

Because of the destruction, it was impossible to stay on the road proper all the time. Huge mounds of rubble and steel girders and sometimes even whole walls of brick had fallen onto the pavement, forcing them to have to weave around them.

Five didn’t mind so much so long as he didn’t lose the road. He always traveled along a road—the bigger the better—searching for food, for water, for alcohol, and, god, perhaps another human being other than the two of them.

_ You’re brooding again. _

“I’m not. I’m fine.” 

The last town they’d walked through—they were actually still on the outskirts, heading out—had been almost completely flattened. Five had found a bit of good water at the bottom of a five-gallon bucket which had caught some rain and a couple of intact cans with no labels. 

He was seriously unsure if they could make it to the next town before their supplies ran out.

“Look at the map,” Five called back, “See how far the next town is.”

_ You asked me to do that ten minutes ago, you silly thing. _

“Oh, yeah, I did.” Fives face split into a wide, sheepish grin, his dimple a deep divot in his left cheek. “What was it again?”

_ Eight miles. _

Five walked on, no longer smiling, a crease between his dark eyebrows.

They camped for the night next to a dry creek bed. Five looked longingly at the five-gallon bucket (which he’d scavenged) and thought of all the water he could put in it if a stream had still run through.

He put the lean-to up and arranged Dolores comfortably. Then he retrieved one of the bottles of wine from the wagon.

_ Oh, Honey, again? _

“Just a few glasses. I swear. You want one?”

_ You know I don’t like merlot. _

“Of course, Dear, I forgot.”

Five rummaged around in the wagon for the wine glasses, surreptitiously taking a few gulps straight from the bottle. The wine lit a fire down his esophagus and warmed his stomach. The wine made it easier. It made it all easier.

The next day they set out again, wind, dust, ash, and all. Five would have snuck a couple of swallows of wine if Dolores hadn’t been keeping such a close eye on him. The wind was less today and the sun peeked through the noisome clouds. Five paused to arrange the umbrella over Dolores. She had such sensitive skin.

  
  
  


By noon they had reached the outskirts of the next town. It was as small as the last but seemed in better shape.

“I’ll bet we can find some supplies here,” Five said eagerly, hurrying on. Last night’s fare of canned beets didn’t give him a whole lot of fuel to operate on. He was hungry and thirsty and he knew Dolores was too.

The main part of the town came into view and there were actual buildings still standing. Five swallowed drily.

The ash was bad here, flurries of it whipping by on the hot wind. Five thought of them as dried tears.

He thought—as he often did—about his family. He missed them so much. Steady Luther, troubled Diego, sweet Allison, crazy Klaus, quiet Ben, and Vanya. How would he describe Vanya?

Five staggered slightly. He was more thirsty than he would admit to Dolores. It was giving him a headache and making him stumble. He had to find liquid of some sort. He just hoped desperately he wouldn’t be dipping it out of a toilet cistern.

They came across a can in the first building—a partially collapsed house—and Five fumbled a can opener out of the wagon.

Can openers were a paradox. 

Of all the varieties of theoretical apocalypses—and there were many—they always seemed to involve canned goods in excess but no can openers to open them.

This wasn’t the case. Five had found can openers at every intact house he’d been in and had a nice collection. It was the cans that were hard to find. 

The can he’d found turned out to contain sliced peaches and Five greedily drank the juice and ate all of the peaches save a few.

“Peaches?” he asked Dolores. He held the secret thought that she didn’t eat enough.

_ I’m fine, Darling. You gave me the last of the water. _

Five smiled and downed the rest of the fruit, upending the can to catch the last drops of juice on his tongue.

They went on. It had been three—almost four—years since he’d arrived and only slightly less since he’d found Dolores. Five had developed the lean and hard physique of an athlete. But he still had his vulnerabilities. He was too thin, too spare, for one, and malnourished for another. His muscles might be hard from the constant walking, the constant searching, but his bones were brittle.

  
  
  


It was a stupid accident.

One of those mishaps that—afterward—you think ‘well, that was dumb.’ But it happened nonetheless. 

They located what had obviously been the local supermarket and it looked as if it had taken a direct hit from a small meteorite. The whole lot was a crater and scattered everywhere was canned food. Five tended to Dolores’s comfort then eagerly descended the edge.

_ Be careful, Love _

“I will!”

But he wasn’t or he wasn’t careful  _ enough _ . Midway down—the five-gallon bucket halfway filled with cans—he stepped on a brick and it turned underneath his foot. 

He heard a distinct, crisp  _ snap _ like someone breaking celery for Bloody Marys.

For a while he just lay in the rubble, the pain overtaking him, starfished out and looking at the pale sky.

_ Darling, are you OK? _

“I’m fine dear. Just a little hiccup. I think I hurt my ankle.” What would he do without her?

Five contemplated the rim of the crater, just beyond which was the wagon and Dolores. It seemed hundreds of feet away. In actuality, it couldn’t have been more than 20.

He sat up, chewing his lip at the pain.

If only he could use his power.

Well, that wasn’t happening. If he could use his power he’d be back in his own time, back in the Hargreeves mansion, reclined on a soft sofa and allowing his mother to tend to his ankle.

But that was a fantasy. Five blinked. There was nothing for it.

He rolled slightly to his right with a groan and retrieved the bucket—no fucking way he was leaving without his spoils—and gathered up all of the cans that had fallen from it and a few extras that were lying nearby.

He squinted at the top of the crater again. He could make it. It might take him a while but he could do it.

He began to crawl.

Using the bucket as a sort of short crutch he found that he could step with his good leg (his left) and then lean on the rim of the bucket to move forward. In this manner, he shuffled upward.

It took 20 minutes and three painful falls to make it. Finally, he was at the top. He threw the bucket over and rolled gracelessly over the rim.

_ You’re not alright, are you? _

Five reclined on his bad side and grimaced. It was supposed to be a smile.

“I’m fine, really. Just a little strain.”

He was pretty sure little strains didn’t go ‘ _ snap _ ,’ but he wasn’t telling her that.

Dolores worried too much. She constantly fretted over Five’s welfare—something that Five loved about her. It reminded him of his mother.

Five gazed fondly at Dolores’s cool, sweet, placid face. They say men choose women like their moms. 

With a supermarket shelf bracket and a bit of rebar, plus strips of cloth and some duct tape to hold it firmly in place, Five constructed a splint. He found them a handy lean-to of sorts where a wall had fallen partway. It provided shelter from the rain and the sun.

Then they settled down to wait. They couldn’t move until Five’s ankle healed. Hopefully, there was enough food.

Five harassed their small fire and thought of his family again. If they were here he could get some commiseration on his injury and company for himself and Dolores. He loved his siblings and he missed them but, if he was honest with himself, he was glad they weren’t here. If they were here then they would be suffering too and Five couldn’t stand the thought of that. At least he had Dolores.

Darkness had fallen and the wind with it. Five poked at the fire one last time. He rolled over onto their pallet, wadding a winter coat up as his pillow and drew Dolores close. He settled down, his head on her shoulder, his lips just brushing the pale column of her neck.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “What would I do without you?”

**Author's Note:**

> As always your kudos and comments just make my day (and I ALWAYS read and reply to comments!) You guys really keep me going! <3  
> Don't forget to check out ["To Uvogin"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25385617) and my latest, ["Heat"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26343010) (I'll be posting that later today) if you are Hunter x Hunter fans! Love you all!!!


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